One ponce the clock comen to the bearhouse a girl all shimsy in the sparkle-locks. Slim of centerpiece, and not much ticking in the crain, she went a bit woodsy-where-am, not gnosting whence or thence, rift or light, soulther or narwhal. Sun shim nighty-mode, and the fordarkest. Creekle in the leavings, shadow jumpen and the frime darken and unwen.
Poor losty sparklehead.
This week’s I Speak Fluent Giraffe tells us a familiar story in a somewhat different tone. Gaul Deluxe Anti-Free Pairs.
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